2012

2013

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Why such high hopes for a new year?
What grace is present in a blank calendar?
How does such inspiration and idealism spring
From this arbitrary demarcation?

But ‘hope springs eternal’ and cannot long be quenched,
So here are the hopes for the year just ahead:

Happiness through focused optimism;
The creative maelstrom uncurbed;
A bleeding, open heart.

When the year rings in, may these sparks find true life;
Springing from the ashes of a year whose hope is spent.

Approaching

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The scene is the same as always. The uniform rippling of the lake. Two rows of indistinct balconies on the building opposite ours. Five strategically placed pine trees.

The neighbor’s dog, out in the yard. Tale erect. Ears twitching. A sudden outburst of barking. The shadow of the building creeping toward me at an imperceptible rate.

Penance

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I woke up a couple of hours ago and have not been able to get back to sleep. Here’s a slightly edited version of something I wrote on a similar sleepless night three and a half years ago:

After tossing and turning and making an unsuccessful attempt to nuzzle up behind my sleeping wife, I roll out of bed and pace the living room. Silence except for the noise of cars cutting West through the darkness on the interstate and the electrical hum of modern life.

Light cuts across the floor; illumination from the sleeping shopping district. I shuffle back and forth across the room. Sit. Stand. Look outside, upward, wishing for a sky that isn’t murky gray-brown but a radiant blanket of stars. Disappointed again. Move from room to room listening for the drone of insects and wind in the trees. Instead, computer fans and spinning plates of metal on stepper motors chirping along.

In this moment I desire for comfort in bucolic tasks. Never more have I wanted to build a cabin on a slope of wild grasses, hedged in by the trees. Dig a pit for my excrement. Steal branches and hone with stone.

I am Man. A creature. Myself honed over the ages to a life of survival using the elements that surround me. Tonight I find myself caged in by walls of material I can’t identify as wood or rock or vegetation. I reach out and I touch them with trepidation. Unsure of what they are, how they arrived here, and for what purpose.

Where will the men of America head? We are young in History, but our trend is clear. Always away from home. Across the sea. Kissing goodbye. Heading away from these familiar constraints. Westward. Fleeing.

But now, looking around the room—out through the vertical bars of venetian blinds—I fear we can escape no longer.

Songs in Rotation

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It’s always fun to hear what other people are listening to. Carrie has had a run of posts with songs she’s been listening to recently (here, here, here, and here) so I thought I’d follow suit and post some songs I’ve been listening to that she didn’t already cover.

I picked this one up from a commercial. Can you name the commercial?

This is from the Scott Pilgrim soundtrack. (Insert joke here about how the comic-con crowd in the video stands completely still.)

The Age of the Understatement.

And finally, here’s one by Andrew Huang of “Songs to Wear Pants To” fame: